Reciting Flanders Field,

My tears soak this hallowed ground,

Single red Poppy tribute,

A remembrance of those fallen.

 

I stand in silence ………

And silence speaks when words cannot.

“Lest we forget” 11/11/2017

Tonight’s meditation takes me to an elevated plane
It captivates those that stare from below.
A spirit friend of days past… sends me warm wishes.
Giving me confidence to live my life past my inconsistencies.

This level ascends without end.
And there, in the light, I hear a voice call out to me.
“There’s a reason you were born with this warm heart and profound emotion….
Let it be a focal point for others…showing them that love passes all understanding."

“If the good is sown, the good is collected; you know this law of Karma.”
“So amplify your emotion and warm heart, show the world what you've received.”
“Everything connects to everything else.”
And I stand alone now…renewed… by the words and the warmth of the Sun.

Morning meditation.... eyes closed,
Impetuously, it connects with me.

Geometric spinning images
Smiling faces drone closer

And then, a large "A" strobes,
Followed by a large "M".

I immediately think of Alan.
"Is this a message from you" I ask?

Faces begin to move into focus,
A tear runs down my cheek.

I question "Is this really you or do my closed eyes deceive me"?
This is answered with my name spelled out letter......by......letter.

My breath goes cold, I can't feel myself
What in Gods name!!

Orbiting motion, whirling faster as it surrounds me
It's as if it lifts me up defying gravity.

"Enough", I scream out
At once ...the visitant departs


And I open my eyes.

One Born in October
One Born in November
Four Years Apart
Born of the same gender

Both names contain four letters,
Big brother, the faithful protector.
Albeit they were different, they had
An inseparable love predestined forever.

NINETEEN

We walk together through scorched ravines.

Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.

Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,

The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.



Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,

We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.

Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet

And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.



And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,

They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.

Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….

And with swift exploit they entrap the men.



As the men peer through the flames they see what seems to be Angels on the Horizon.

And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.

Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,

Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.



A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!

And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.

No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds

Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.

NINETEEN

We walk together through scorched ravines.
Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.
Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,
The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.

Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,
We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.
Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet
And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.

And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,
They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.
Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….
And with swift exploit they entrap the men.

As the men peer through the flames they see Angels on the Horizon.
And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.
Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,
Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.

A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!
And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.
No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds
Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.

-Kurt Carman 2013

My 72

Most mornings when I arise,
The thoughts of you run through my mind.
I stare at your high school picture wrapped in Crimson and blue
You've left me and dad, left us to soon at 42.

And now I'm left to look through all those old photos
To get a glimpse of the way you were in sober days,
You know the one, with you & Auntie in the snow on Albany Avenue
Smiling as if your world never stopped, as if you had no idea....

As I stood watching them lay your body to rest...
My feet no longer touched the ground, weightless, I reached towards the sky
I cried out for you to take me to your new home.  
The wind moaned, the lighting kissed the sky and the rain caressed my face.

Here I lay on the rain soaked ground pitying myself
How, Mom ....do I begin to handle this void in my life.
And I realize that the misery and affliction
Must not consume my mind and soul...

Out of silence the blue bird warbles a message of calmness.
The breeze wraps its arms tightly around me as if to say,
Young man, "I'm here to dry your tears and give you warmth."

I wish for nothing more than to hear you say... I love you.

In memory of Bill Berkson Poet - Rest in Peace**

...  cantered light-heartedly downstream to their doom.
 — Patrick Leigh Fermor

Somebody down there hates us deeply,
Has planted a thorn where slightest woe may overrun.

Disorderly and youthful sorrow, many divots picked at since
Across the thrice-hounded comfort zone.

Can't cut it, sees permanent crones
Encroaching aside likely lanes of executive tar

All spread skyward.
You got the picture, Bub:

This world is ours no more,
And those other euphemisms for grimly twisting wrath,

A wire-mesh semblance bedecked
With twilight's steamy regard.

Look at the wind out here.
Delete imperative.

Hours where money rinses life like ***,
Whichever nowadays serves as its signifier.

In my mind, I must have tried to paint your face a million times.
Throughout the years, I’ve patch worked you together, one piece, a little at a time.

The Art of Memory suggests that I should start with the color of your eyes
As I recollect, they were flow blue, and I was simply mesmerized.  

Brush splashes across this canvas with lightning bolts of golden hair.
Reminding me of ocean waves, ebb tides riding currents of trade wind air.

And the freckles I painted so lovingly upon this porcelain face,
Are like a constellation of stars that surpass time and space.

Its only when I close my eyes and go back in time
That the completed image parts the clouds and the sun begins to shine

1976 we first met..
A Chicago girl that was always far to special for me.
But you saw something special in this troubadour
Our lips touched and you took me Beyond the stars

1986 you brightened our life's
6 lbs 7 ounce baby boy.....a miracle from God
We three held hands and made the union complete
Now and forever you made me so very happy

1996 we had some rough times
Held each other until the clouds passed by
Always resilient we walked together through this valley
Next peak is in sight.... are we ready for ten more my friend?

2006 our baby moves out on his own
Empty nest tears but ever so proud,
We tell each other what a wonderful son we raised
It's back to you and me baby just like 76'

2016 the start of forty years of loving my perfect mate
We plan out our rocking chair days that are just ahead of us..
You my dear made me the man I am today,
And..I'll be loving you long after my last breathe.


*Happy Anniversary Sweet Heart and lets shoot for fifty!

Racality* / reɪsˈæləti/ - *An awakening when one realizes that regardless of outward appearance or inward ideology, unconditional love for mankind conquers narrow-mindedness.

Regardless of one’s fit, form or function,
We must be mindful that judgment is a natural instinct.
It’s time to pause and think about the words before we speak them.

K.E. Carman/ 2016

One of my favorite writers and naturalist John Burroughs. I've read a lot of his essays and think he's one of America's greatest treasures*

"In October, a maple tree before your window lights up your room like a great lamp. Even on cloudy days, its presence helps to dispel the gloom."
-John Burroughs

Remembering the 19 Granite Mountain Firefighters we lost 4 years ago - I wrote this one for the boys - RIP


We walk together through scorched ravines.

Cutting paths through ashen yellowed undergrowth.

Beads of perspiration, our faces flushed,

The gusting wind embraces us as if to hold us back from completing our objective.



Six minutes of Safety our mission, premise clear,

We attack the fire with grit & opposing force.

Smoldering vegetation extinguished beneath our feet

And a Jack Rabbit makes his move to escape the approaching flames.



And in the distance, the Demon ‘Fire’ & his accomplice ‘shifting winds’ plan their conspiracy,

They look down upon there victims with malicious contempt.

Hands clenched as if to enjoy their fatal actions….

And with swift exploit they entrap the men.



As the men peer through the flames they see what seems to be Angels on the Horizon.

And they arrive to carry off their heroes to paradise.

Making their way through the Milky Way……. past Jupiter & Mars,

Bound for a place called “The New Jerusalem”.



A welcoming carpet of stars marks their arrival and the Son shone bright!

And as they approach the city, their smiling faces are welcomed by oceans of loved ones & friends afar.

No more tears, no more pain, no more worries…only happiness abounds

Because the hotshots from Granite Mountain have arrived home, safe and sound.

It’s always this time of year that fills me with so much emotion,
A calloused fear that underserved children will suffer an abomination
And be left with nothing to open on Christmas morn.

It really doesn’t take much effort to put a smile on a childs face.
A toy, wrapping paper, some ribbon, a bow and an embrace.
It’s all up to you to conceive the dream and put it in place.

“We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.” ― Winston S. Churchill

When the harvest moon,
climbs above the Horizon, my mind finds you.

When the Thunder sounds,
a glint of how strong our love was, fills my eyes.

As the trees sway to and fro,
i remember our walk through the cadence of flowering fields

And as the rain falls down,
so did our love end so many years ago.

But As the sun peeks through the clouds,
I see a ray of hope and that’s enough for me.

Kurt Carman May 1985
A Rise on Neversink
NOTE: It's important for the reader to know that Theodore Gordon was an American writer who fished the Catskill region of New York State in the late 19th century through the early 20th century. Though he never published a book, Gordon is often called the "father of the American school of dry fly fishing. The poem " A Rise on Neversink" is about a boy and his Grandfather fishing on this famous river called Neversink. The spirit of Gordon, who now lives through nature, encourages and speaks to the boy through wind and water.


A RISE ON NEVERSINK

We head upstream past fallen Hemlocks,
Crawling recumbent through advancing grass.
Wetness prevails from the night before,
And seeing us, the Groundhog shakes his head in disbelief.

Sun perched on Doubletop Mountain,
Shown the rising Brown sip his prey.
I wait, another rise boils the riffle.
My eyes question when, Grandpa gives the nod.

The shooting line breaks the winds path,
Invisible leader curls resisting gravity.
The Skater finds its mark, spinning without authority,
Setting a course through the waters force.

Emerald moss, dripping wet jewels,
Deepens the blue-green pool,
Theodore Gordon's reflection shown now,
He smiles, the breeze whispers "tight lines".

Scrambling from my knees I find
the Brown makes his approach, only to show his back.
My heart pounds and only my gut tightens.
Disappointment whelms over, an encouraging nudge prods from behind.

Gordon's voice once again calls,
Performed by the spruce needles murmur,
Patience s s s s s s  
My hands begin to steady, premise clear.

Double hauling as if my life depended.
As beautiful an object of lavish nature produces,
From underneath the Brown assaults, Skater devoured, groping,
Grasped with bent snout, outmaneuvering his prey.

Tippet strained, reel whining fervent praise,
Moving for swift water, he surfaces briefly
Seeking the currents leverage.
He educates his pupil with the magical ploy.

A broken fly rod hangs down in contempt, against the tender Payne rod.
The evening hatch finds sanctuary,
And only the Catskills angling legend lingers in the air.
This lesson complete, the boy dreams.

                                        And Theodore awaits the mourning encore.

i peer through this looking glass,
and watch the high tide fill the arigideen river.
quickly, i walk the path, as i try to catch,
the dusk light over the estuary.

its where the gannet perches to find warmth,
i start a fire to do the same.
in this place, by the sea, i find an all-embracing refuge,
and my eyes converge on the beach below.

bitter-vetch flowers line the path where she walks,
its when my eyes lay sight of her,
i feel that this might well be irelands most beautiful wild flower,
and I think to myself...every day is like Sunday when I see her walk by.

Today we remember your legacy through the words Aeschylus

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart,
Until, in our own despair,
Against our will,
Comes wisdom
Through the awful grace of God."

Life is good,
But the 3rd act is a shitshow.

It's days like this one, Mothers Day,
That I once again try to make sense of it all.
Trying to understand why you left us so suddenly at 46.

Closing my eyes I think of our happiest moments,
The possibility of seeing you again if only in my dreams,
And the excitement of our impending reunion one day.

The annual blooming of Pink Drift Roses,
Explains my never ending love for you.
Even the Butterflies know your name.

...And they return each summer to kiss the sun and light upon your shoulder.

I Love You Mom

As the Sun sets and the day is done,
I reflect upon my life once more.

The things I did well, but much thought,
Is given to the things I would have changed.

I could have done this, or could have done that,
And if I did........things would have certainly been different.

Life's journey causes us to take a second look at our choices.
It gives us an opportunity to look at our mistakes from all angles.

Life is a drawing with no eraser and thinking is required.

Raise your head and your eyes will follow.

They refer to us as street pigeons, city birds and believe it or not, sometimes even refer to us as flying rats.

The general consensus, we are an unacceptable lot, filth and vermin.

We are thirty strong. We survive day-to-day. Sitting upon the phone lines of this Rugee Vista neighborhood.

Sunny, is our fearless leader. She is a skilled glider, a fast thinker and not to be taken lightly.

Sunny is a mixed breed. Part Show Racer, part Birmingham Tumbler. She’s a warrior that knows the Importance of being resourceful.

Generally speaking, we are a peaceful group, But have been known to attack other birds that infringe upon our territory.

You probably don’t know that Pigeons are an intelligent bunch. We’ve passed the mirror test for self recognition lol… And we are expert navigators.

We are constantly foraging To keep our bodies, minds and youth strong. We mate for Life And we share the responsibility of rearing our young.

So the next time you see us hanging out in the neighborhood, we hope your thoughts will be pleasant ones.

Meantime, we will be rummaging the back alleyways, garbage cans and city parks for food to support ourselves and keep the city clean.

We'll leave you with this qoute that Nelson Mandela once said.

WE ARE THE KINGS OF RUGEE VISTA

“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”

Time waits for no one,
And the memories we cherish nourish our hearts.

It was loved ones that meant so much to us.
Mom with her infectious smile,
Brother Paul who left us far to soon,
Cousin Tom who taught me to milk the cows and,
Grandma Bessie with her soft rhetoric.
They've all left this world!

These photos of my ancestors adorn the walls of my home.
I stare into their eyes and I try to connect with their identity.
Pointing to a picture, my grandson asks, "who is this Pepaw?"
We talk about all the memories and I remark how time flies by silently.
And looking into my eyes, my Grandson says, " I would have loved to known him".
I give him all the details and memoirs of this person so he can pass it on one day.

Those we love never really leave us.
There are things that death cannot touch.

It’s this morning. that our first snow arrives,
Tree’s bare, fallen leaves flush our creek crimson.
The ghosts of the autumn have passed once more,
And my tears for them melt the snow away….

An Encounter on Muleshoe Bend

Chapter 1 – Meeting Mr. Russell
September 2015.
Walking past the upper geyser basin, I stop for a moment to watch the rising sun give way to a buttermilk sky. Its late Fall in Yellowstone and I’m headed to the Madison River to wet a line before winter sets in.
My eyes scan the field dotted with cow elk and the ever elusive bull over looking his harem from the cover of a quaking aspen forest. He keeps a close eye on me as I cross the field towards the river. The cows continue to graze without moving and my eyes are now focused on a tree that’s felled across the Firehole River. I see what appears to be a person straddling the fallen tree that extends over the entire width of the river.
As I move closer to the river my thoughts are confirmed as I see a man sitting on the fallen tree with one leg propped upon a branch right there in the middle of the river. His horse, grazed in the adjacent field. His shoulder length hair and beard were snow white; he was dressed in buckskin fringed pants and buckskin shirt and wore a wonderful hat that had a turkey feather stuck in on an angle.  I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out to him, “Hey old timer good morning to ya”.
He immediately shouts back “Good day to you sir and I’m no **** old timer”!
I walked hesitantly to the edge of river as he puffed on his clay pipe and said to him “Hey, ah, sorry if I offended you, I certainly didn’t mean to be disrespectful”.
“Make no never mind of that” he replied.
I climbed out on the tree next to him and extended my right hand,  “Hi my names Tom Murphy”.
He kind of half heartedly shook my hand answering “My names Osborne, Osborne Russell”.
I said “Well Mr. Russell it’s a pleasure to meet you”. “This is one hell of a view you have from this tree”.
He said “Well I’ve been coming to this very spot for over 150 years!
“150 years” I exclaimed, “How old are you” I asked.
He acted he like didn’t even hear me. He looked at me with these piercing blue eyes and asked “What’s your business up here son”.
“Well I hope to catch a few trout today sir and you’re welcome to join me if you like”.
“OK he said, I suppose I should keep an eye on you just in case we run into those ornery Nez Pierce Indians”.
I kind of chuckle to myself and say “Ok Mr. Russell, If I’m going to catch any fish this morning we better get a move on”.

END CHAPTER ONE